Pucker Up
by ShanghaiLily
Summary: Post S3: After a boring summer, Veronica gets roped into volunteering to work the kissing booth to raise money for a battered women's charity. Shenanigans ensue.


**A/N - Hey guys! I know you're waiting for that final RH chapter (it's coming) but here's something to tide you over. **

**VMficrecs on tumblr (run by nevertothethird and parkerlee - check it out!) had a contest and the winner got to request a fic. They wanted something post S2 that ended happily. I volunteered to write it because I'm crazy and love to overextend myself.**

**Anyway, here it is! Hope you like it. **

**Special thanks to nevertothethird for beta'ing!**

* * *

Even before she'd heard the metallic click of her apartment's front door tumblers falling into place behind her, Veronica knew she had chosen the wrong outfit to wear to Hearst's annual charity fair.

Despite it's warm weather climate, it was uncharacteristically muggy for Neptune - which usually had the benefit of an ocean breeze to keep the humidity at bay. The prospect of standing for hours on the sticky Tarmac of the university's student parking lot made her feel a little queasy.

Though if she was being honest, it wasn't the reflected heat that made her stomach churn (not that it was a plus), but what the day symbolized. Today was to be her first real interaction with other students since the mortifying series of events two months earlier.

Veronica had tried her best to lay low this summer, not that she had a choice. With her FBI internship falling through, she'd been stuck in town answering phones at her father's office. Her dad had basically forbidden her from stepping outside of the Mars Investigation building for anything more than a coffee run, and she couldn't really blame him.

How could she expect him to trust her not to get into trouble when she didn't even trust herself?

That's how she found herself standing outside of the Lilith House kissing booth, about to start her hour-long shift as a mouth-for-hire. The proceeds would go to a women's shelter that housed victims of domestic abuse. They specialized in training women with the skills they would need to get professional jobs, helping them to become financially self-sufficient.

Certainly she could swap spit with a few desperate math geeks and computer nerds for a cause like that. It would be like doing a public service on both ends of the equation.

At least, that's what Mac and Parker told her when they'd coerced her into signing up.

Her unrelenting crusade for justice at the tail end of the school year had damaged her relationships with almost everybody she cared about. And what did she have to show for it besides an aborted job opportunity, some broken friendships and a father whom she'd nearly put in prison?

Veronica was done being selfish. If being a good person meant making out with half of the underclassmen at her college - guys who had undoubtedly seen her topless cheerleading routine - she'd suck up her humiliation and make it so.

And if covering her arms and legs like the Amish was what she had to do to get through the day, that was her business.

* * *

"I think you're in the wrong place, shawty." Dick, clad in his requisite Hawaiian shirt and cut-offs, dragged his eyes down Veronica's form in a slow, disappointed, once-over. "If you're looking for the Rumspringa booth, it's on the other side of the lot."

Veronica mimed a hearty laugh, then surreptitiously glanced down at her long-sleeved button-down and baggy peasant skirt. She had to admit, Dick's jibe wasn't off the mark. She did look a bit like a Mennonite house frou.

It probably wasn't the sexiest choice for somebody trying to get people to pay for the privilege of kissing them, but that was kind of the point. The entire school may have already seen her topless, but she wasn't going to give them a repeat viewing. She would give them the exact opposite.

Veronica tugged out the hem of her crisp, white shirt and tied the ends into a loose knot at her waist, which only changed the style from Mennonite house frou to 1970's Mennonite house frou.

"We can't all dress like rent boys working the Maui resort circuit," she said, stepping through the doorway.

"That's cute, Ronnie." Dick squinted at her through the harsh sunlight, his face still wearing a mask of contempt. "But, you know what's not cute? Everything you've got on."

"Shucks. Don't tell me I've lost my first customer already?" She snapped her fingers and pulled an exaggerated frown.

"Not even if _you_ paid _me_." Dick removed the 'KISS ME' sticker from the center of his chest and slapped it onto her bicep. "It's not that you're not hot - well, not in that get-up you're not," he said, casting a disapproving eye toward her clothes, "I just don't wanna end up getting arrested, being an international fugitive from the law or shipped off to military school. You're like the rich dude version of a Stephen King novel."

None of those events were her fault - well, directly anyway - but the implication still stung.

Veronica raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm expected to believe you read Stephen King novels?"

"Fine. You're a Stephen King movie. Better?"

"Yes. Now, I'm not offended at all."

Dick lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, exposing a ripped torso, bronzed from the many hours he'd probably clocked wasting time in a way only the idly rich can. She had to admit, she'd normally find a body like his attractive...were it not attached to the worst human being on planet Earth.

He must have been doing a lot of surfing. With Logan, probably.

Maybe that's what Logan did with his time over the summer? She wasn't about to ask Dick, but she could guess.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture Logan at the beach...his wetsuit hanging halfway down - flashing his golden skin - as his chest rose and fell with each heavy pant after a particularly strenuous run.

Veronica swatted weakly at the roll-top gate that had been deployed in front. "Isn't there a window in this thing?"

It was truly frightening what the combo of oppressive heat and a summer of celibacy could do to the brain.

"The feminazis said we're not supposed to keep it open unless we're working...but it's like the surface of the sun up here in this beotch, so fuck them." Dick pulled a cord and lifted the canvas flap boxing them in.

The wave of cool air Veronica had been hoping for never materialized, but she leaned into the non-existent breeze anyway. "Well, that was anticlimactic."

"Climax," Dick mumbled to himself with amusement before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few pills. He popped one into his mouth, swallowing it dry with a wince, before offering Veronica his outstretched hand with a grin. "Share-sies?"

"Is that Adderall?"

"No dude, Valtrex. Stole a few out of Chip's stash and replaced them with Aleve while he was passed out drunk. I've gone 20 years without catching the herp and I'm not about to start now." He placed another blue pill on the back of his tongue and choked it down while continuing to thrust his other hand at her. "Take the prophylactic."

Why hadn't she thought about the random shit she was exposing herself to while working the kissing booth at a college charity fair? By the time her hour ended, she'd probably test positive for the plague and a nasty case of mono.

No wonder Wallace scooted to the edge of the couch when she told him of her afternoon plans. What the hell was she thinking agreeing to make out with God-knows-how-many strangers for cash?

Now, Dick was giving her advice on how not to catch an STD. It was basically the douchebag version of getting meditation advice from the Dali Lama, so she should probably give it some serious consideration.

A shudder of disgust coursed through Veronica's body as she looked down into the vast expanse of Dick Casablancas's palm and the gathering of pills at the center.

"Prophylactic? I'm shocked you know what the word means, Dick." She casually palmed a few of the tablets and slipped them into her shirt pocket with a subtle nod of thanks.

"Normally I'd say that prairie outfit is all the prophylactic that you're gonna need," he flipped his bangs back and winked at her, "but Logan would probably be pissed if I let you catch something gross. You know, before the next excruciating round of you giving him false hope and then dumping his ass?"

"I don't...he-"

Before Veronica's protestations could go any further, Mac let herself into the booth by the back door, squeezing past Veronica to retrieve the cash box.

As Mac turned around and took in the sight of Dick gathering what was left of his belongings, her eyes widened in shock and then narrowed at him.

"Wait-you're leaving? I thought you were scheduled to start now. I know I put you down for this time slot." Mac pulled her phone from her pocket and furiously scrolled through a PDF she had open.

"I switched with somebody," he said, barely looking up at her.

"Who do you kn-?" Mac stopped herself and let out an annoyed harrumph. "You didn't think you needed to tell me?"

"Uh...clearly not?" His brow creased at her as though this should have been obvious. "Why? Were you hoping to get in a few before I left? Did you bring your wallet? Hit up the ATM on your way over here, Mackie?"

"Just a reminder, _Dick_, I'm not the one who paid to make out with somebody in high school."

"You're the one who hired her! Him! Her?" His blue eyes glazed over with confusion. "Them?"

"Dick, what are you doing raising funds for a woman's shelter, anyway?" Veronica asked, mainly to diffuse the thick cloud of tension gathering in the too small booth. "Guilty conscience finally getting to you?"

"It was this or community service," he said with a shrug. "Apparently, the sight of a man's bare ass is considered 'sexual harassment' and the lesbians at Lilith House felt 'traumatized' by my gluteus maximus."

Veronica cocked her head to the side and marinated in the memory of Dick's naked reign of terror that followed the campus's feminist rallies like a shadow, and the ensuing mob attack that left him with a dark purple bruise across his cheekbone that persisted for nearly a week. Turned out, Nish had a pretty tremendous left hook when pushed past her breaking point.

"I'm not sure having Dick get busy at a kissing booth really functions well as a teaching moment." Veronica flashed a wicked smirk at her friend.

Mac drew her arms tightly around her waist and gestured to the man in question with her chin. "We may as well make a profit for charity off of that one doing what he normally does with his time. He managed to raise over $1000 in one hour. Unbelievably, there are actually thirty women willing to pay cash money to make out with him."

"That's literally the saddest thing I've heard all week," Veronica said, holding in a laugh. "And I watched 'The Notebook' last night."

"Jealousy is a bad color on you, Ronnie," Dick said, as he yanked the canvas back down on the front of the booth out of spite. "So's whatever color that fug blouse is."

"It's white, Dick."

"Sayonara." He hopped up onto the counter, lifted the flap and slid across to the other side, 'Dukes of a Hazzard' style, before sashaying off into the roasting sun.

Like he was pre-programmed to do it, Dick immediately aimed himself at a throng of girls gathered around the alcoholic slushie machine. They welcomed him with the enthusiasm usually reserved for returning soldiers, because some women have no self-preservation skills.

Mac's expression soured as she watched him mingle. "I'm going to kill him. And then you're probably going to kill me."

Veronica's mouth quirked upward. "Nope. I'm pretty much okay with whatever torture you have in store for Dick Casablancas."

With a tight expression, Mac slowly shook her head. "That's not what I..."

Veronica turned to look at what had captured her friend's attention, and the struggle to draw a breath of sweltering air into her lungs grew exponentially tougher.

Mac's skittish behavior suddenly made a universe of sense.

"Now I know what that horse-drawn carriage was doing parked by the Ferris Wheel," Logan said, playfully checking Mac's shoulder in greeting, before turning his full attention toward Veronica. "I think you might get a ticket if you leave it there past five. Alternate side parking today and all."

"Unfortunately, I'll have to take my chances with the fuzz. You know it's verboten for me to drive before sundown on the sabbath. Isn't it?" She turned to Mac, who was backing slowly toward the exit.

"I'm majoring in computer science, Bond, not obscure, ethnic cultural traditions."

Before Veronica had a chance to willfully entrap Mac further into a pointless discussion about the Amish, her slippery friend had disappeared behind the flimsy sheet of balsa wood that served as the kissing booth's makeshift door.

"Don't kill me!" Mac's thin voice called out from the other side of the wall.

Over to her left, Veronica heard Logan uncapping a tube of Chapstick - probably spearmint-flavored, if his tastes hadn't changed over the summer - but she didn't dare to steal a peek.

Even without looking though, his presence was overwhelming, taking up all of the empty space around her like a flash flood.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a shy smile graced his face.

"Good thing this isn't awkward," he said, and slowly swiped the balm across the top and bottom of his lips a few times, then pressed them together.

Her eyes fell to his mouth as he dragged his lips against each other over and over again, like a taunt.

Was he doing that on purpose or did he always find a way of doing things in the sexiest way possible? What was next? Sexy watch adjustment?

She forced her gaze to his hands - strong and gentle at the same time - and intently focused on the slow roll of the Chapstick retreating back into its casing like a burlesque showgirl.

The stagnant air in the hut felt close and oxygen-deprived. Veronica mentally cursed Dick a thousandth time for shutting the window.

"I was surprised to hear you'd be participating in this," he said, offering her the Chapstick.

She shook her head. There was no way she was putting her mouth on something he had just put his mouth on. That way lies only trouble.

"Why? Because I'm uncharitable?" A spark of challenge flared behind her eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. "No. I just figured after what happened with Gory..."

It was kind of nice to know she wasn't the only one who had trouble mentioning the 'sex tape' directly. Though she didn't want to examine why it was harder for Logan to discuss it than it ever was for Piz, whose laissez faire approach to retribution was the last nail in the coffin for their relationship.

"I thought the last thing you'd be interested in doing was engaging in a meet-and-greet with the horniest guys on campus."

"Dick actually left about five minutes ago," she gestured over her shoulder toward the window, "You just missed him."

Logan smirked, then wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "You should be glad you dodged that bullet. I found a stash of Valtrex in the center of our coffee table this morning. No judgments about STDs or anything," he said, holding up an apologetic hand as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, "but knowingly risking other people's health is uncool."

"He doesn't have herpes, Logan...though apparently Chip Diller does, because sometimes karma likes to prove me wrong."

"That wasn't karma. It was more like him losing a game of sexual roulette, assuming most of his liaisons were drunken, frat party hookups." Logan's forehead pinched in thought as he turned the tube of Chapstick through his fingers like a gauntlet. "So, if Dick's clean, why did he-?"

"Prophylactic medication," she said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "I know. I was surprised he knew the meaning of the word, too. Even more surprising though, was his concern for my well being...well, how it might affect yours, anyway." She pulled one pill from her breast pocket and held it up for Logan to see.

The Chapstick fell to the pavement with a clatter and they both dropped to the floor to fetch it.

"He gave you herpes medication for my benefit?" Logan reached between her knees to retrieve the tube, bringing his face within a hair's breadth of hers.

Her skin flushed and tingled from the soft, minty exhale that ghosted her cheeks.

"You look hot," he said, while standing up, then silently offered her a helping hand.

She took it reluctantly and let him pull her back to her feet. "You think I'm hot?"

He rolled his eyes and gestured to her blouse. "Seriously. If you felt that uncomfortable doing this, you should have just said no. Nobody would have blamed you for it, least of all me."

"I'm not uncomfortable," she said, while failing to swat away all of the hair that was plastered with sweat to the back of her neck.

He smiled fondly at her. "You look like you're cosplaying Laura Ingalls."

"People cosplay Laura Ingalls?" Veronica's nose wrinkled at the idea. "Why?"

She didn't quite understand the allure of cosplaying in general, but she figured that if you were determined to bother doing it, it would make more sense to go as somebody badass, like Mystique or Lara Croft. Somebody you could never be in real life.

What was the point of getting trussed up like somebody from 'Little House on the Prairie'?

"Escapism. Fantasy. People will dress up as anything if they can forget themselves for a little while." Logan lifted the ends of her shirt tails and fiddled with the hems, forging a fragile link between them.

"You're suggesting I want to be Laura Ingalls?" A humorless laugh erupted from her chest, but the implication of his words niggled at her like a loose tooth.

Laura Ingalls may have had to deal with drought, house fires and harsh, Midwestern Winters, but she wasn't raped, locked in a flaming refrigerator or nearly choked to death by a tweaked-out Irish mobster.

He raised an eyebrow and she shrunk away from his glare. "Well, you sure as hell don't want to be Veronica Mars right now. Do you?"

All of the air left her lungs in a whoosh like being hit in the solar plexus.

Maybe Logan had a point.

"It's okay. I get it." He shrugged and kept his focus on twisting the hem of her shirt. "I'd probably be cosplaying Mr. Rogers or Bill Cosby right now if it were sweater season. It's not always a carnival to be us...though I'm pretty sure we've often been the side show."

Logan's ability to see through her artifice had always been both the bane and crux of their relationship. For as much as she wanted his intimacy and trust, it always meant losing a degree of control that she wasn't very comfortable with.

"You planned this, didn't you?" she asked, lifting her chin with an air of indignation. "You switched shifts with Dick so we'd be here at the same time. Didn't you?"

His face froze, but the wave of guilt that passed over his features was unmistakable. "I didn't - you wouldn't answer my calls. How else was I supposed to get you to hear me out?"

"Is this meant to be some kind of intervention? Did Mac put you up to this?"

"What?" He dropped her shirt tails like they'd caught fire. "No. Of course not. I just wanted to see you, that's all. Despite how everything shook out at the end of last semester, you have been missed."

A loud, rhythmic banging on the wall of the booth startled them both, but went unanswered.

Veronica stared Logan down, though she wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for. After a long 30 seconds, the fine trickle of sweat dripping down her neck pulled her attention away

"I don't like being tricked, Logan." She grabbed a fistful of her hair a little too roughly and twisted it into a bun between stiff fingers, then held it in place with her hand.

Logan dropped his head back against the wall with a hollow thump and shot her a lopsided smile. "As if that were even possible."

Veronica took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She wasn't sure if it was her guilt, his guilt, or a combo of the two, but her paranoia was spiraling and she needed to pump the breaks.

"It's hotter than a Spike a Lee movie in here. I think the heat is boiling my brain." She waved the conversation away with a hand and then pinched the skin between her eyes. "I'm pretty sure if it were ten degrees cooler, I might have the capacity to be rational."

"Something to aspire to." He pulled a bottle of water from a Stop-and-Shop plastic bag and pressed it to Veronica's forehead.

"Oh God." She leaned into the cold and felt all of her anxiety draining away. "You can eat in my pizza joint any day of the week, Mookie. You're officially my favorite person again."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

The alarm on her phone chimed, signaling the beginning of their shift and disrupting the odd vibe that had been building between them.

"Make it stop." Veronica groaned at the noise, desperately wishing to ignore it, but her conscience got the better of her.

She leaned over to pull the window flap open, but Logan stopped her with his hand.

"I know the natives are getting restless, but we really need to talk." His voice was unbearably soft, as if they hadn't left things between them in the most confusing and painful place imaginable in May.

"Yeah. I know we do, Logan, but there isn't time now."

The banging started up again, followed by the sounds of people chanting 'Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!'.

His eyes darted toward the voices and then back to her. "I'm game if you are."

"I think they meant them." Veronica shoved his shoulder with her index finger and laughed. "They want us to kiss them."

He frowned and shook his head. "Well, we can't have that."

"That's why we're here."

"That's why you're here. We've already established why I showed up today." Logan brushed past her, the slick skin of his forearm sliding over her neck as he lifted the flap. "We're closed!"

As he pulled the canvas taut and secured the flap tightly to its anchor, a cascade of boos violently erupted along with a hail of objects being lobbed against the fabric barrier.

"What about the charity?" Veronica looked nervously over at the closed window and imagined a throng of angry villagers lighting their torches. "We're supposed to be helping battered women."

"A very worthy cause, and one which I fully intend to support." He pulled his distressed-leather wallet from his back pocket and slammed it down on the counter top. "Everything in my wallet for an hour of your time."

She had to give him points for creativity, but he couldn't be serious about covering the income from both of their shifts.

As if reading her mind, he flipped open the wallet, pulled a staggering wad of cash from the fold and pressed the bills into her hand.

She briefly flipped through the stack of bills and her mouth fell open. "Logan, there has to be at least thirty-nine hundred dollars here."

"Four thousand, actually," he said, a self-satisfied smirk forming across his lips. "Four thousand dollars for an hour of conversation with you."

"You could get a hooker with that kind of cash. The fancy kind that you order on the phone."

"I don't want a hooker, I want you - just to talk," he said, hand up defensively as he stumbled over the end of his words.

"A fancy hooker would talk to you and give you a happy ending. Are you sure you want to blow all of this dough on me?"

She knew she was being stupid, dipping her toe into uncharted waters. But Logan's charm was like a siren's call, always luring her back out into the most treacherous part of the ocean.

He took the money from her hands and laid it back down on the counter in a neat stack, then bent his knees so he could look her directly in the eyes. "I'd gladly pay."

Veronica nearly broke at his words. The memory of that afternoon they'd spent in bed together, the intimacy they'd shared, was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

Logan had stripped himself bare, opened himself up like a dissection frog and allowed her to poke around at his insides, to press his soft spots and uncover all of the things that were damaged or missing.

The trust he'd put in her that day was astonishing, especially knowing that she might never be able to return the favor.

It was her best memory of him, but it would forever be tainted by her worst one. Though he hadn't outright lied about Madison, he hadn't been honest either. And even if the fling meant nothing to him (maybe because the fling meant nothing to him?), it had still done great damage to her.

Like taking a crowbar to a car fender, bashing it in just below the driver's blind spot. Even if the dent was wasn't visible, it wouldn't take long to figure out that something wasn't right.

Regardless of the state of the vehicle, driving fast with the top down still felt pretty fucking good.

"Cock tease!" A male voice boomed from outside, forcing a laugh from both of them.

"I think he was talking to you," she said as she hopped up onto the counter to sit.

Logan's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "You're staying."

"Come on. I'm not a heartless asshole. Not all the time, anyway. Plus, don't underestimate the power of lethargy." Veronica shot him a wan look. "Now, what do you have to say to me that's worth four grand?"

He leaned against the wall of the hut, causing it to groan with the pressure. "What I said the last time we saw each other..."

"You mean, when you mopped the cafeteria floor with Gory's ass?" She couldn't help the grin that parted her face.

Logan kicked at the ground awkwardly, trying to hide his own smile. "Yeah, right after that. I truly meant it when I said I was sorry. And not just about wailing on Piz. Before then, with the Madison thing."

"Look, I was really pissed off. She's a sore spot for me, but after thinking all Summer about it...I know you wouldn't have tried to intentionally hurt me." Her hand cramped and she released her hair, letting it tumble back to her shoulders. It was like tossing on a thermal blanket. "But, you shouldn't have done what you did with her, and you shouldn't have done what you did to Piz."

"It was a mistake. A stupid, thoughtless, revolting mistake, being with Madison." He swallowed audibly and then cleared his throat. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good to punch Piz's lights out, but I know that was also a poor decision. It's...well, I thought he hurt you and I couldn't just leave it at that, even if that makes me a bad person."

"I'm pretty sure if be a hypocrite if stayed mad at you for your misguided attempt at chivalry. Turns out, I hurt people all the time when I'm trying to do the 'right thing'. Sometimes intentionally. I basically launched a scorched earth campaign that nearly ruined the lives of everybody I care about."

Logan ran his finger down the seam of the drywall. "You always did know how to enter a room."

"I got my dad arrested and lost him the campaign. And Mac almost got tried as an accessory to theft." Her hands became more animated as she spoke. "Wallace was tied to a chair and shocked with electricity! I lost my FBI internship, and you..." Her voice trailed off as she averted her eyes. "You almost got yourself killed trying to protect my honor...what's left of it, anyway."

"And I'd do it again," Logan said, the strain of unexpressed emotion tightening his voice. He pushed himself off of the wall and stood in front of her, his hands braced on the outside of her thighs. "I'd slay a dragon if I knew it would keep you safe."

She couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at her with such earnestness, and the implication made her heart clench. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, Veronica."

Veronica let out a shaky breath and reached for her messenger bag, unzipped the front pocket, and produced two twenty dollar bills. "It's not enough to buy a fancy hooker, but I feel pretty strongly about this cause."

"How strongly?" He parted her thighs and stepped a little closer to her.

She dropped her money onto the top of his pile, edged forward a few inches and licked her lips. "More strongly than I've ever felt about any cause in my life."

Logan had his hands under her ass before she'd taken her next breath.

She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him the rest of the way in. "I never thought these words would come of of my mouth, but thank you for manipulating me today. Good call."

He twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers and looked down at her like he wasn't sure if she was real. "My pleasure."

Veronica reached up and held his face in her hands - pausing for a split-second to take in his expression - before urgently pressing her lips against his.

The heavy air was making her head swim, but the slow drag of his mouth against hers made it all fade away.

"God, I missed you," Logan murmured against her mouth between teasing licks.

Their kiss was tentative at first, but quickly ignited. Between the heat in the room and their building passion, she was worried she might combust if she didn't cool down.

"My shirt," she whispered into his ear, pulling the lobe between her teeth. "Take it off."

He kissed down the column of her neck, his fingers slowly unbuttoning the front of her shirt as he advanced.

"You're killing me." Veronica ripped her shirt open, tearing the remaining buttons from their threads. She sighed at an embarrassing volume as Logan helped peel the rest of the damp fabric from her arms.

"Oh thank God!" She gasped, tipping her head back to get some air as he tossed her shirt to the ground.

"Amen to that," Logan said, aggressively fiddling with her bra. "I was going to suggest the next charity be to rescue your wardrobe from domestic abuse."

"Hey! I liked that shirt."

"No you didn't." He laughed and licked a long line down the valley of her chest. "You couldn't get rid of that shirt fast enough."

"I can't get rid of this shirt fast enough." Veronica lifted Logan's t-shirt over his head and bit her lip as she gazed on his chest. "I missed you, too."

Logan pulled her forward and lifted her skirt up, forcing it to bunch around her waist, then pulled the crotch of her underwear to the side and pressed a few firm circles there with his fingers. "I've never made love to a woman in a prairie skirt before."

"And you're not about to now." Veronica moaned at the contact and grappled for the zipper on his jeans. "Its sweet that you're a hopeless romantic when it comes to us, but nobody makes love in a kissing booth. This is the kind of venue one uses to have a quick fuck."

Logan paused for a moment and pointedly looked down at the pile of money on the counter next to them. "You paid $40. That's barely enough to be kissed. I, however, paid for the whole hour...and I intend to use that hour to make love to you. We can quick fuck in my car on the way to dinner tonight."

"Well, like I said..." Veronica leaned over and double-checked that the tie on the window was knotted tightly, then turned back to him. "This charity is very important to me. So, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it a success."

Logan surged forward and kissed her again, but just as he began to press inside of her the back door of the booth slammed open and Dick Casablancas wandered in, shaking a bottle of pills in his hand. "Logan! I brought you some of Chip's Valre-damn, son!"

Dick stood in the doorway, watching with glee as Logan tried to shield Veronicas body from his predatory gaze.

"Get out, Dick!" Logan and Veronica screamed at the same time.

"That outfit is a much better look for you than what you had on earlier, Ronnie!" Dick stood there casually, like he had no place better to go.

"Stop staring at my girl and fuck off, dude!" Logan shouted, lobbing a nearby roll of masking tape at his friend's head.

"Okay! Okay!" Dick folded his arms over his head for protection as he eased out of the booth.

Logan grimaced at the closing door, then exhaled a chuckle. "So...about that quick fuck..."

Veronica's head dropped heavily on his shoulder. "Told ya so."

"Quick fuck it is, then."


End file.
